


Pebbles in the Wind

by Cynthia_Gold



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Abstract, Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Friendship, Gen, Happy Ending, Kindred Spirits, One Shot, Sherlock is an actual rock, Sherrock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 22:33:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cynthia_Gold/pseuds/Cynthia_Gold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John die together, but this story is about what happens afterwards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pebbles in the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> I originally intended this to be funny, and it turned out a little abstract, to say the least. Please let me know what you think!

Sherlock remembered running, chest heaving as his feet pounded the road.  Adrenaline flooded his system.  The chase was on, and he knew John felt it too.  He remembered the sound the rain and the thunder made as he himself thundered down an alleyway.  He remembered how well the sound of the gun blended into the booming air around him, and he remembered exactly how the bullet felt as it entered his head.  Sherlock remembered how his own blood mixed with the rain already dripping down his thick curls.  He remembered John shouting his name, and then he remembered how the shot echoed in the narrow alley and the look of panic on John's face when the bullet dug into John's own heart.  He remembered hearing footsteps, running, but not his, not John's.  

The last thing he remembered was feeling the warmth leave the two of them as they huddled, each trying desperately to save the other, when finally he saw no more and the world went black.

Then Sherlock simply was.  He only felt his own essence and whatever it brushed against.  He seeped into the cold earth and through the icy streams beneath it, never feeling, only sensing.  Sherlock sensed only cold as he drifted away from John's familiar warmth. 

Sherlock followed the water as it dripped through the soil.  He didn't want to stop; not yet.  This wasn't the right place; the water was too cold.  Sherlock sensed himself leaving the water, his very essence being infused with a boulder as he passed through it. 

He waited for untold eternities, wedged underneath the soil.  He ached for the warmth that had left him so long ago.  He only sensed the frigid earth in which he lay.

He waited still for eternities more.  Then Sherlock sensed something unexpected: upheaval.  He sensed motion and being shifted through the soil.  He sensed water now, cold water that enclosed him on all sides except for one, the one that kept him anchored to the soil.

He sensed the life pulsing around him for thousands of years, every beat from a heart of ice. He sensed the rock that he slept in being torn apart by the torrent around him.

_Sediment._

The word floated within him, something less than a thought, but it forced him, for the first time in untold ages, to remember.  

He remembered words flowing from John, foggy and distant.  Sherlock had scoffed with his reply of "Sediment"...

No.

That wasn't right.

_Sentiment._

Sherlock sensed something stir within him, something new.  Sherlock couldn't place it.

So long was Sherlock absorbed in himself that for a while, he forgot the chill that had surrounded him for eternity.  For a long time he didn't sense the sunlight that had replaced the water that once enveloped him.  He did not sense the wind.

_Friend._

Sherlock sensed this new word, but it did not come from within him. 

_Remember, Sherlock._

Gently Sherlock reached out a tendril of sentience, endeavouring to sense the source.  He sensed the sunlight.  It shot cold throughout his being.  Sherlock recoiled and quickly tried to retract back within himself.  

Something stopped him.  It was something... warm.  This something had wrapped him in warmth, protecting him.  The wind had wrapped itself around him so tightly.  Sherlock released just one word into the abyss beyond his own senses.

_John?_

The wind embraced him tighter.  Sherlock, for the first time since his death, did not sense, but feel.  He felt the warmth, soaked it in.  He let it draw him out of his hiding place within the rock and out into the wind.  He felt reassurance flood him as one word, imbued with warmth, encompassed him.

_John._

Sherlock allowed that word to fill him.  _John._ Memories of friendship pervaded the two entities now entwined together in the wind.  Sherlock and John would never have to feel the cold again.


End file.
